


Pickman's Notes

by FettsJetts



Series: Ash Vs. The Commonwealth [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Menstrual Sex, Mild Blood, Pickman's Gallery, Pickman's point of view, Sexual Content, kinda spoiler for Pickman's Gallery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FettsJetts/pseuds/FettsJetts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders what her blood would look like across a canvas, but he refrains from finding out. He won't kill this one. She's too pure to have her blood spilled in such a way. Pickman's affections run deep for this killer, and Ash is lost in a harsh, monstrous world. And lost people make bad decisions. </p><p>[ If you didn't already read the tags, this is kinda gory. not in the sense of murder or anything, just blood. and sex. and bloody sex. So PLEASE, if you do not like blood, I urge you not to read this. It is not crucial to my main story Ashes. Anything crucial will be said in that story. So don't feel obligated to read this shameful sin. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pickman's Notes

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly your last chance to turn around. 
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy.  
> I'm not gonna lie, though, I totally had Animals by Maroon 5 on repeat. Because it was so god damn relevant.

_Thanks, Killer._

Pickman watches his killer leave, his note neatly folded and slid into her pocket. She leaves slowly, eyes lingering on his art... He thinks for a moment, on if he should follow his killer, see what more she could do. He'd watched her slaughter the raiders that stood between her and him, watched the sweat cover her skin in a thin sheen. He had practically heard the whine of the leather armor she wore as she moved, her pale fist connecting with Slab's jaw. His head had snapped back so far, he heard the crack of the raider's neck and watched his body fall limp as he hit the concrete floor. Then she wiped the blood that had splattered her face, and turned to him. 

He follows her to a settlement, watches her clean the blood from her rifle. He watches the calm rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, thinking regrettably about what she would look like still and cold. But then he thinks again, about her killing again, slaughtering a raider with her bare hands, their blood covering her pale skin. She looks like a dark dream covered in crimson, a wild look upon her remarkable features. 

-

He leaves a note for her that night, rested atop her rifle.

 _Oh, my killer, you are exquisite._ A heart drawn in blood sits beneath the words.

He watches her read it in the morning, and instead of scowl he expects, she smiles. She keeps the second note with the first, in her brassiere. Its an intimate thought, his notes so close to her bare skin, to her breasts. He sees a light shine in her eyes, and his heart soars for his killer.

-

After his third note, his killer begins to reply. 

_My killer, how the color crimson compliments your cream skin._

She leaves a mangled raider body behind, with " _Your k_ _iller"_ written on their skin. Pickman had watched her slaughter him, watched her carve the raider to pieces with  _his_ knife, the gift he had given her. A deep heat sits in his stomach, spreading down to his groin, to his cock. He breathes heavily as he looks over her handy work, the jagged edges of each slice, and the look of terror on dead features. 

He admired his killer above all. 

-

His next note is an invitation, one he hopes she'll take.

_Oh, my killer, I do dream of you. Visit me so I may dream more._

She finds it in mid-day, another smile playing on her lips. She tucks it away, picks up her back and walks in the direction of his home. She walks leisurely, as if to give him time to prepare. And he takes the time. He rushes to his gallery, tidying up what he could manage. When the last of his art is in place, he waits. He sits at a clean table, waiting for his killer. 

Night had fallen two hours prior to when his front door opens. Its his killer, and he can smells blood on her. It smelled sweet, and he knew, in his being, it was hers. But she wasn't injured. He could see that as much when she rounds the corner, curves covered in a thin, blood colored dress, just for him. His eyes slide closed as he takes in a deep breath, smelling her sweet scent. 

"My killer." He whispers. A small laugh leaves her pink lips as she approaches him, leaning against the table he is seated at. "You bleed, killer." Her lips part to say something, but she remains silent, her eyes scanning over his relaxed figure instead. "Allow me to map your skin, killer, commit it to memory, so that I may paint you." A perfect brow raises to question him, but he stands. He's much taller than her, that he knew, but in much closer quarters, he seemed to tower over the killer. His killer. 

"Paint me? I do hope not with my own blood." Her voice is hardly a whisper, but not out of fear. He laughs deep in his throat as a reply.

"Oh, no. You are a goddess, and I merely mean to worship you, in all your glory." His hands, calloused from the knife, cradles her soft face, and his lips press against her. Her blue eyes slide closed and she pressed her body closer to his. His hands migrate to the back of her neck, pulling the pin from her bun. Thick red is released, her hair flowing down her back. One of Pickman's arms snake around her waist, gently laying her down on his table. "Killer." he whispers against her skin.

"How do you worship a goddess, Pickman, when she is nothing but a human with an inclination for murder?" Her blue eyes stare up at him as he hovers over her body. "Do you cause affliction or pleasure?" He revels in the smile she gives him as she guides his hand to the zipper on her dress.

"I find, my killer, that the best worship combines both." A hand begins to slide of her thigh, under her dress, and it meets a sheath and it holds a blade. His blade. "And what better instrument than this?" He slides the blade from under her dress, forgoing the zipper she led him to. The jagged knife slides up the fabric of her dress, cutting it from her body. With each inch the blade moved, more creamy skin became more visible to him. A low moan sits in his throat as the smell of her blood is stronger. "Oh killer, how you bleed for me." His lips rest at the base of her throat, kissing down her body. His calloused hands rest on her breasts, earning a hitched noise when his takes a nipple between two fingers. When his lips meet the waist band of her panties, he removes a hand from her breast to grasp the knife again, cutting them away.

His hand delves between her thighs, causing her to jump suddenly with a small groan. Blood smears her thighs and the sight goes straight to his cock. He needed his killer, needed to be within her. He pulls back, pulling at his suit pants. He doesn't mind the blood that stains the fabric. His pants are pushed down to his ankles, his cock free. His killer's blue eyes take him in with a groan and he smirks in reply.

"Oh, killer, this is how I will worship you." Pickman lines himself with with her, pushing his hips forward slowly. His killer arches with every push forward, small sounds leaving her beautiful lips. Her teeth come down on her bottom lip, biting down so hard she draws precious blood from her skin. He pushes his hips forward again, suddenly, their hips meeting flush against the other. His killer croons, his hands gripping the side of the table. 

His hands explore her body again, smearing her own blood across her pale skin. He pulls out to thrust in again, and watches his blood stained cock slide out of her, only to slam back inside her folds. A high pitched moan leaves her throat and he grins. 

"Where is my affliction, Pickman?" She says with a laugh, licking at the blood on her lips. His grins twists into a smirk, the same one he had when he slaughtered raiders. And it thrilled her even more. 

His picks up his blade, and brings its sharp point to the skin of her hips. She gasps suddenly as it digs in, bringing blood to the surface. Then he begins to carve as he thrusts inside of her. He can see that she doesn't know whether to whimper from the pain or pleasure, so she does both, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the table. 

_Killer._

That is what the skin of her hip now bore. It would scar, Pickman made sure of it. He finished the beautiful word on her skin and he slams into her harshly, his pace quickening. Her thighs were smeared with more of her own blood and it pleased him to no end. The sight of her covered in blood and crying out on his table made his cock twitch within her. But she would come first. She was the goddess, and her worship would be the most important. 

By the tightness of her walls, he knew her orgasm was coming soon. He thrust into her one last, hard time. She arches of the table, a harsh cry leaving her throat as her orgasm overcame her. He spilled into her soon after, and they laid there, stained in red and panting.

"Oh Killer, you are a dream."

-

His killer left soon after a warm bath filled with more worship, and a change of clothes.

He knew his killer would return though.

She had to.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so when I first thought about writing this, it was gonna come out so much more explicit, but I was kinda worried and toned it down significantly.
> 
> If there are any typos or errors, please let me know.


End file.
